


Baci il cuoco

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [22]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Tacky souvenir, The Lecter Family vacation, but Hannibal loves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “This one here,” she points to the item in the middle, white fabric with a tacky print on the background of an Italian flag. The imprint of a kiss seals the garish design.“Baci il cuoco,” she reads the words slowly, making sure she got the letters right, “And you’re a cook, Papa.”





	Baci il cuoco

**Author's Note:**

> Baci il cuoco = kiss the cook in Italian.

“Something for you, Papa!”

The small girl dashes towards the stall with her parents following closely behind her, making sure she is not lost amongst the crowds of the market. The colourful stands on both sides of the street display a similar selection of cheap goods, designed to lure the distracted gaze of wandering tourists trying to find their way to the Spanish Steps. Or their ever-curious daughter. This time her eyes have been drawn to a selection of novelty aprons lining up the front of the stand.

“This one here,” she points to the item in the middle, white fabric with a tacky print on the background of an Italian flag. The imprint of a kiss seals the garish design.

“ _Baci il cuoco_ ,” she reads the words slowly, making sure she got the letters right, “And you’re a cook, Papa.”

The stall owner appears by side of the display, hoping to make a sell and smiles at Mira, clearly impressed by the little girl’s reading skills. But he is met with a stern gaze of her parents; it makes him feel strangely uneasy and he steps away, keeping his distance, as the girl regards the aprons with a contemplation of an expert buyer. Bedelia’s eyes follow Mira’s gaze, scrutinising the cheap souvenir and she suppresses a smile, dipping the spoon in her gelato instead. Hannibal looks from his daughter to his wife, hoping for her usual skilful reasoning with their daughter, but Bedelia gives him the most charming of smiles and merely licks her spoon. He is on his own here. He turns back to their daughter, waiting patiently; she is used to her parents needing extra time to fully grasp her excellent ideas.

“Thank you, _mylimasis_ , but I already have an apron,” he speaks at last. As expected, his argument does little to discourage Mira.

“But if you wear this, you can get kisses,” she states factually, the firmness in her words and eyes so much like her mother’s. Hannibal cannot help but smile.

“Does it mean I should not get kisses otherwise?” he teases her and watches as her eyes flicker with sudden alert.

“Of course not,” she clarifies at once, “But this way you can get _more_.”

Hannibal’s smile turns into a chuckle and he glances at Bedelia, utterly amused by the exchange.

“Well, that is an excellent point,” he concludes, making Bedelia raise an incredulous eyebrow, “I think I should buy it.”

Mira lets out a happy giggle then turns to remove the apron from its spot; the task proves impossible as the hanger is too high for her to reach. The salesman makes another, more careful approach, still watching the couple, but they appear less guarded as he takes the apron and hands it over to Mira.

“ _Quanto costa_?” Mira asks, thrilled to be able to use the new learned Italian phrases.

“ _Ventidue Euro_ ,” the salesman responds.

Mira looks to Hannibal at once and there is nothing left for him to do but pay as the salesman packs the apron and offers the bag to Mira.

After the transaction is completed, Mira gives the package to Hannibal, it is _his apron_ after all, and takes Bedelia’s hand, as well as the two last mouthfuls of her gelato, as they continue to make their way through the market.

“Perhaps we should find something for Mama,” Hannibal suggests all too casually, making Mira’s enthusiasm light up anew and Bedelia’s gaze turn scathing.

But unfortunately, the remaining stalls fail to impress Mira’s intricate taste and no other purchases are made that day. The apron gets tucked away in one of the suitcases and forgotten for the rest of their travels in Italy. Bedelia does not expect she will see it again. But she could not be more wrong.

 

They have been back home for a week when Bedelia walks into the kitchen and encounters an uncommon view. Hannibal is getting ready to cook, neatly folding the sleeves of his shirt, the usual even strips of fabric rolled up his forearms, but instead of his normal apron, he sports the Italian souvenir. It makes for a strange fusion; Bedelia’s gaze deliberately lingers on his attire as she walks towards the sink. She turns on the tap and hears a faint sound of throat clearing; she ignores it, washing her cup without haste and then turning the water off in same unrushed manner. The sound repeats, louder this time. She turns slowly to find Hannibal looking at her expectantly.

“Yes?” she asks offhandedly, “Can I get you anything? A glass of water perhaps, to help with your dry throat?”

A well-known spark ignites in his eyes, he is ready to meet her challenge, his hand gesturing to the sign on his chest.

“You cannot possibly be serious,” Bedelia states coolly, “It is rather ostentatious, don’t you think?”

“Mira said I looked dashing,” Hannibal responds with a pretended hurt in his eyes, his hands straightening the neck strap of the apron.

“She should kiss you then,” Bedelia counters, standing her ground.

“She did,” he responds with a smile, but the gleam in his stare tells her he is now craving a different kind of kiss. He looks almost bashful, continuing to look at her in silent anticipation, a proven way to make her resolve dissipate.

Bedelia’s fingers tap on the counter as she makes him simmer in uncertainty, but the bloom of smile in the corner of her mouth tells him his charm has worked. It always does.

She steps slowly, standing in front of him, hands resting on his chest as she tilts her head up to press a soft kiss on his lips.

“Perhaps another one?” he breaths out, his lips still lingering close to hers, “Just for good measure.”

Bedelia laughs quietly, her fingers tracing the letters on the apron.

“You never stop surprising me.”

“There are many things I will never stop doing,” he declares, gently brushing her lips with his in a silent encouragement.

Her lips still smiling, she leans in and kisses him again, deeper this time, her body melting against his as his arms wrap around her. She sighs softly, savouring the pleasure of their shared caress.

Their daughter was right; this cook needs to be kissed more.

**Author's Note:**

> Mira courtesy of Lena/awayfromsight. I keep skipping through the timeline, depending on what moment of their lives inspires me, hope it's not too confusing, but to clarify, Mira is four years old here. I headcanon them visiting Italy every summer. I continue to hesitate writing them as a family, worrying it is too fluffy of a concept, but the ideas just keep coming (and I secretly love them).   
> I have been feeling sad this week and writing this really cheered me up; hopefully it will bring a bit of joy to someone else too.


End file.
